


Places to inhabit in the midst of a war (alternatively: Grimmauld Place's forts for adults drowning in self-pity)

by WanderingBandurria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Blanket Fic, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Canon Compliant, Canon Trauma (referenced), Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Getting Together, Gratuitous asides into the characters' thoughts, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Language, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Other members of the Order of the Phoenix in the background, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Questionable Coping Mechanisms, Sharing a Bed, Sort Of, The first part is very deep in psychology, again i guess, but it gets lighter I promise, it's not a bed but it's the principle that it's still there, nightmares (referenced)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28215111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingBandurria/pseuds/WanderingBandurria
Summary: Blanket forts are not only for kids, or so Sirius and Remus discover after building their first one since their school years in Grimmauld Place. Forts have their own type of magic where only the two of them exist - something that two heartbroken-and-put-back-together adults definitely need from time to time.It’s just a coven for the two of them, an island of light in the darkness, a soothing breath of air for their tired souls. A place where old, buried feelings can be rediscovered.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 38





	Places to inhabit in the midst of a war (alternatively: Grimmauld Place's forts for adults drowning in self-pity)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> So, I'm very happy to be sharing this fic here. I worked tons in it - which means that it's very heavy on the psychological parts at some places, which I didn't intend, but well, in the end, what are you gonna do. I really love this fic. I just wanted to give Sirius and Remus some fun times at Grimmauld Place (but apparently I can't skip thinking about the past and memories). I wanted to have them as adults falling in love in the soft, warm cuddle of a blanket fort. Am I projecting? Do I need a blanket fort right now? Yes, absolutely. I think we all need a blanket fort in our lives. Let's start building some right now!  
> So, for once, this is for me. Yup. I have no shame. I'm dedicating this to myself, with all my love. It's been a hard year and we've made it, people. Let's shower ourselves with some love.  
> But, as usual, I would be nothing without LikeABellThroughTheNight, my lovely, faithful beta that keeps up with me at every turn. Love, you have no idea how much your support means. You are invited to join me in my blanket fort whenever you want. And as an honourable guest, we also have [SwottyPotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swottypotter/pseuds/swottypotter) (go read her works, they are fantastic!) who helped me to figure out how much I wanted to dig in the psychological parts of Remus' POV. In the end, I still went all-in (oops) but your feedback, as usual, was so important! Thank you so much.  
> Please check the tags before reading this. If you like the idea but not the route I took, I love Remixes, so just contact me and let's chat about it! Also, I have a couple of fics that might catch your feelings with a different angle: for bed-sharing, I have [this sweet Hogwarts' years get together](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26985751) and [this first war, ridiculous fluffy baby.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25745383). If you like this one and you want to read more OotP get togethers, I have [this other shorter work](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26577136).  
> Woof, okay, so this has been a long note. Please consider that English is not my first language and even though my beta is amazing, I always change things at last second, so please let me know if you spot any mistake. I have a big mixture of British, USA, and some other secret places English in my vocabulary, so this might show in this work. Let me know in the comments if there's anything too weird! I love learning more about English and improving my written skills, so all comments made in good faith will be welcomed!  
> Hope you people enjoy this!

\---

No one sees the first blanket fort but the two of them. It’s probably better that way - it’s just _their_ _thing_ , this weird link between ages and timelines, something that most people wouldn’t understand. People might say it’s absurdly childish, something that two adults like them shouldn’t be doing, not at their age. It's not that Remus cares too much about what _people_ say - he doesn’t, hasn't done since the war, not after losing everything important in his life at once. The aftermath of the war - James, Lily and Peter (or so he thought), dead; Harry, hidden away; the rest of his classmates, dead, or long gone - was the final blow in the face he needed to know that decades of controlling his behaviour in front of strangers and acquaintances weren’t enough to keep him safe. He knows that he still has to keep tabs on his public image, but what people think about him, besides the basics they need to know to leave him alone, is something he doesn’t give two shits about. And as for now, with Sirius back in his life, all that he cares about is finding places of peace and comfort, damn be conventions and judgments about _proper adult behaviour_. 

And since things move at weird angles when Sirius and he are together, it has to be in a grey, stuffy afternoon at Grimmauld Place that Remus finds himself considering building a blanket fort. 

He’s thinking about it because Sirius is angry. Absolutely pissed _and_ angry. 

Anger is something Remus can deal with. He knows what to do with it, he’s even _good_ at managing Sirius’ fury. Sad bouts and thoughtfulness that lead to looking-out-of-the-window, avoiding-eye-contact-while-still-giving-polite-answers? Those are the moments when Remus doesn’t know what to do, not with Sirius at least. He’d take _all_ the angry outbursts over those moments. 

Remus is no longer made to deal with subtle emotions from Sirius nor from himself; not anymore. Over the past thirteen years, he's gotten used to chasing sadness and mixtures of guilt and desire out of his life, and to act like those emotions don’t exist for him. It’s safer that way, it makes people stop asking questions, it forces them to stop mid-phrase when they start saying things like _weren’t you friends with James Potter and Sirius Black?_ If he just smiles or gives them a cutting answer, they just - stop. They stop trying to _take care of him_ , trying to _make it better,_ and just leave him alone. 

It’s only when it’s late at night and there’s no booze, drugs or bone-melting exhaustion to stop him from examining all his past mistakes that he has to deal, inevitably, with those other emotions - sadness, loneliness, guilt, _guilt, guilt_. Sometimes you don’t have a choice about when your brain decides to turn against you, he has told himself, bitterly, on countless sleepless nights. 

But anger - he can deal with anger. Even if it makes him snap back sometimes ( _raise your hackles, show your teeth_ , Sirius used to say to him, mockingly), and then fear losing control and his carefully constructed façade. Anger is _fine_ with Sirius. There's no mask to lose, there's no risk of losing control. He knows that attacking Sirius, lashing out at him isn’t a real possibility, as simple as that - not with _this_ Sirius who’s so, so careful around Remus - because even if he tried to go after him with all his arsenal, hurt his feelings, talk about James, mock him about Harry and Grimmauld Place, Sirius would just stay there and let him do and undo with only a smile on his face and a mocking salute: _I’m_ _so proud of you, Moony, you are finally revealing the bastard that you have always been._ And that, in itself, would suffice to shut Remus up. He knows he can’t really hurt Sirius. There’s nothing he can say that Sirius doesn’t say to himself already.

Sirius’ anger doesn’t make him lash out at Remus. It's not that Sirius _can’t_ bite back, but he rarely goes after others with the intention of hurting them - and there’s even less risk of him going for Remus. Sirius explodes blaming the world; he might even make things burn to the ground, but he doesn’t try to harm people, with a few exceptions, mostly under the name of _Severus Snape_. He’s never gone after one of his friends - even _The Prank_ was about Snape, not Remus. That had stung, yes, but it also made it easier to get over with: If it wasn’t about him, he had nothing to forgive. No need to obsess about Sirius weaponizing him. 

(Back then, nothing Sirius did was really, _truly,_ about Remus, and that was something Remus couldn’t blame Sirius for. His broken heart was really his own fault for _wanting_ things to be about him.)

When Sirius Black is angry - _this_ Sirius, who’s not _that_ Sirius anymore, who’s not seventeen, nor twenty-one; who doesn’t have James Potter by his side, who doesn’t believe he’s invincible, doesn’t think he’s so smart that he _deserves_ the world at his feet - he doesn’t corner Remus. He doesn’t yell at him _what are you looking at,_ he doesn’t say bitterly _don’t act like you are not one of them, like you don’t want to keep me trapped here too, like you are not on his side._ He doesn’t laugh hollowly before spitting _don’t pretend you are not helping to keep me locked down like I’m a fucking toddler - what, you think I don’t see how you look at me like I’m a broken toy that no longer works?_ No, he doesn’t point fingers nor does he add _you think I don’t know I’m not useful anymore and that’s why I’m kept here, with all the other broken things?_ Sirius never says that, not to Remus, never to Remus, but it’s not like he needs to voice the words for Remus to hear them in his head. 

Sirius just screams about his family and _this fucking house_ and _fucking Dumbledore_ _who doesn’t really care for Harry_ and _fuck, Harry - Harry who has no one, who thinks the weight of the world is on his shoulders; Harry, who Sirius and Remus barely know thanks to Sirius’ idiocy and fucking Wormtail and…_

Remus has heard the words thousands of times, but somehow they still sting. He can tune them out though, he can understand them without even hearing them. _He's good with anger,_ he repeats to himself - he can deal with Sirius breaking things and pulling at his hair. Remus can keep his cool, his breath steady and his legs crossed; and as Sirius’ wand points to the relics of his family, as he blasts windows and burns curtains, Remus patiently sits on an armchair and flicks his own wand to bring blankets, sheets and covers from a cupboard where he remembers seeing all the bedding.

The first thing he does is change the colours of the blankets. He pulls a face at the smell of the burning carpet, but he doesn’t look up as he decides that yes, _red and gold_ ; maybe he’ll keep some of the greens but only to mix them up with dark crimson because that’s a beautiful combination. Maybe he’ll leave a bit of black and grey here and there - and white, he’s definitely leaving some things white because that’ll let some light into their fort. 

He’s not completely sure of _how_ building a fort was the only reasonable solution he came up with to help calm down Sirius’ rising temper, but this _does_ feel right. It’s like this is etched deep inside his soul, like blanket forts occupy a particular place in his heart that is otherwise left empty. Doing this feels like finding new ways to bring in memories of four boys - _boys, they were fucking boys_ \- learning some of these charms to have all-nighters in the middle of their dorm, stuffing themselves with food and alcohol. It feels like bringing back James’ laughter and Peter’s jokes without the pain that usually gets entangled with the memories when they try to talk about them. It feels like hearing Lily’s steps outside their room, and Marlene’s laughter from the common room. It almost tastes like Hogwarts and _home_ and that bittersweet tingling in the back of his mouth that he got whenever he thought about Sirius back in the day. 

Remus is not sure if it’s just his wishful thinking, but he _feels_ that maybe with this fort, they can make some sense of things that happened back then between them - how his heart picked up pace at the sound of Sirius’ voice, how they avoided being alone together for too long, how they never made eye contact for more than two seconds. Remus thinks that maybe they were too afraid of burning each other with feelings they could barely understand, emotions that felt too dangerous, too light and too heavy at the same time. Feelings they couldn’t properly come to terms with, not when they were sixteen and the promise of a future was shattering in front of their noses with the shadow of the _fucking war_ to come. 

It’s not that it’s much different right now, with the new war already showing its yellow teeth, forcing Sirius to be trapped here and Remus to go back to the werewolves’ camps; a war that almost got Harry killed last year. It shouldn’t be that different, it’s not like _they_ are that different - they haven’t had the chance to really grow and change and learn, living half-lives in the shadows, and yet... something is different because the call of _I want, I want, I want_ has turned more forceful in Remus’ heart since Sirius appeared on his doorstep last year. It feels like they are on the verge of a _now or never_ that doesn’t come fast enough. It feels like they might have a chance if they approach each other slowly this time, if they examine each other’s hearts softly, carefully, like two wounded animals.

Maybe they are older, wiser, even if years passed as ghosts. Maybe they are different, and not only because of grief and pain that slammed their skulls against the walls until they were both gasping for air. Maybe they are different in the way they can feel for the other, see the other, even _want_ the other.

Maybe they are different from who they were at the beginning of the year even, because now Remus can almost taste the memories that the fort brings to the surface without feeling like he's burning in freezing fire. He can almost see the blast from the past, but it’s like he doesn’t have to face it, not _really_. It’s like living without having to decide what to do with Peter, treason, and friends doubting friends’ loyalties. It feels like connecting with the past, yes, but with a real chance to start anew.

He can hear Sirius’ ragged breathing close to his shoulder - there’s no other sound as Remus takes in his hands the largest blanket, now red with golden embroidery, and extends it over the floor after pushing away the coffee table and the couches with his magic. The ground slides under his feet as the armchair he’s sitting on moves out of the way too. He hums softly a melody he’s not sure from where he picked up, and feels Sirius coming to stand by his side, the pace of his breathing falling to the rhythm of Remus’ song. 

After setting a couple of blankets on the floor he summons some pillows and cushions. Remus moves from the couch to sit cross-legged on the floor, feeling his trousers tightening against his legs. _Damn adult clothing_ _that’s_ _not made for people to move around comfortably_ , he thinks idly at the back of his mind. He finally looks up at Sirius - drained, stormy-eyed Sirius, with his hair mussed and his hands bearing scorch marks; beautiful, untouchable, unattainable Sirius, who wasn’t supposed to come back into his life, who was supposed to be the most bitter of the memories; _this_ Sirius, _that_ Sirius, _his, not really his,_ Sirius. 

Sirius looks back at him as Remus summons the cushions from the couches to let them scatter in artful disarrangement in front of him.

He just has to raise an eyebrow and look back at the cushions for Sirius to sigh, walk over, and let himself fall on the floor. A small smile threatens to take over his face and his breathing is now nice and deep. Remus feels a deep pang of longing in his heart. Instead of pushing it down, he lets it simmer there as he smiles slowly, softly, carefully. He smiles for the two of them, for all the smiles that Sirius still can’t give, and throws some pillows at Sirius, making him snort before falling backwards, splayed like a starfish in the middle of the living room. After looking at him for a couple of seconds - Sirius’ feet falling to the sides, gold edges on his red socks facing the walls; his fists opening and closing in a slow rhythm - Remus resumes his activities, summoning the rest of the blankets and placing the right charms on them to build a small cocoon around them.

He’s not sure about how much time goes by. He’s been humming the same bridge and chorus of the song over and over again, and Sirius is still splayed on the floor, one hand now on his belly, playing with a button of his shirt, but after a while, Remus finally feels pleased with his work. He just has to add some floating lights that make their new private world shine red, orange and pink, welcoming and soft as Remus wanted it to be. 

“So, what will it be? Whiskey or gin?” he asks, letting his weight fall back on his hands behind him.

Sirius snorts again at that, propelling himself onto his elbows.

“Both would be nice.”

Remus nods, even if a part of him worries about their ways of coping. The other part of him just dismisses it. _It is what it is_. It is what they have for themselves in these moments of their lives.

He summons the trolley in the studio instead of letting the questions consume his brain. They’ll be able to pick from the cart whatever they want, and god be damned if Remus doesn't need a drink now, with the litany of thoughts about past and present, smiles and touches, anger and grief, making his head feel light.

\---

Remus covers his mouth and sniggers, youthful and openly, all his walls suddenly down. Sirius tries to shush him, but he has his own bout of laughter to manage. The blanket over his shoulders slides down slowly, so he grabs it with one hand as he keeps a firm grip over the firewhiskey bottle.

"Shh, they'll hear us," Remus half-whispers, half-yells, as he inches closer so they fit better under the floating blankets.

"I _know_. You shush yourself!" Sirius answers, playful and happy. He sets the bottle down and puts his hand over Remus' mouth, as Remus starts laughing again.

Remus has been back for two days, and the first thing he told Sirius after hugging him tightly - like he never did, not even _before_ \- was _we should make a new fort and have a fucking night off_. At that, Sirius just smiled, his heart feeling heavy because, well, he didn’t really know what his night needed to be _off_ from, but nonetheless, he knew that he would take Remus’ offer without questioning it. After all, with Remus, everything was always a bit backwards, a bit out-of-axis, and maybe that was why he felt the bitter bite of loneliness at the same time that his chest filled with the warmth that only Remus’ presence could bring him. 

Next thing Sirius knew, they were working their asses off on the best goddamn fort they could make. Sirius still needed his focus and energy to control the wand he had been given, which relieved him from questioning himself, once again, about his feelings for the only real friend he had left.

Sirius jolts back into the present with his heartbeat picking up as he feels Remus' warm breath against his hand, the moisture of the air coming out of his lungs, and the soft graze of teeth over his palm. He's suddenly not laughing anymore but looking intently into Remus' eyes - brown and full of mischief, just like they were in school. Remus looks back at him, and he’s not laughing anymore either. His hand comes up to grab Sirius’ wrist and trace small circles with his thumb on the soft skin of his wrist, making goosebumps rise all over Sirius’ arm. Desire builds in his belly as he feels the scrape of Remus' teeth again and then the soft, warm wetness of the tip of his tongue on his palm.

He swallows, unable to make any decision but to keep looking at Remus' darkened eyes.

They hear footsteps in the corridor outside the studio they are in, and a long, suffering sigh as the door opens.

"I really hope this is something Harry and the kids left behind and that _nobody_ is in there," they hear McGonagall say, making Remus flush and Sirius finally break eye contact. Bravely, Sirius moves away from Remus and pokes his head out of the blanket fort.

"Minerva," he says with as much dignity as he can muster given how pissed he is, raising his chin as she purses her lips. "Remus and I are having a, what is it called? one of those things that Muggles in America have in their moving pictures… A _slumber party_. We think that after years of missing out on the simple things in life, we deserve a break, don’t you agree? So this is a judgment-free corner, made for adults in need of fun. You are welcome to join if you want, but you have to remember that rule," he says with curt, assertive nods punctuating each statement.

"I promise you, I know how juvenile this is," Remus adds next, creeping under Sirius' chest to poke his own head out from their fort through the small opening between sheets and blankets that they left to summon the alcohol. An opening that was definitely _not_ designed for two adults, so it forces Sirius to grab the blankets around him to not collapse on top of Remus. Surprisingly, their fort stays up, resisting the extra weight.

_Their fort_ , Sirius thinks, feeling happy and young again. Their fort, that they built with yelps and screams and so much laughter that Sirius thought that it might be possible to forget everything about Dementors and _Twelve years_ in just one moment of pure happiness. 

"But well…" Remus seems to be trying to finish the phrase with something that makes sense, but in the end, he just shrugs and sniggers again - a true testament of how drunk he is.

McGonagall’s lips twitch.

"Well, as kind and tempting your offer is, Mister Black, I'm afraid I have to decline. I was looking to use the studio for a personal meeting," she says, and her lips actually quirk upwards this time.

"At this hour?" Sirius asks with disbelief, and forgetting all semblance of decorum, he reaches blindly for the bottle of firewhiskey, groping Remus’ thighs in the process. Remus squirms a bit, although it’s a second after his touch, and Sirius flushes, but neither of them really moves away - Remus is still half underneath Sirius’ chest, his legs spread out on the floor and his shoulders hunched under Sirius’ arm. Sirius finally grabs the bottle, smiles at McGonagall, and uncaps it with one hand and a wink before taking a sip while still clinging for dear life to the blankets with one hand.

"There's a small study room on the second floor, sixth door to the right, I think. Maybe fifth. We finished cleaning it today," Remus provides, always helpful, although a bit strained and sheepish. Sirius wonders how he manages so many emotions at once, and how he, on the other hand, can still decode them all. Even after twelve years without seeing him. Even if Remus should be almost a stranger.

"Thank you, Remus," McGonagall says nodding, before starting to walk back to the door. "I'll leave you two to your…" she adds suddenly, looking over her shoulders.

"Slumber party," Sirius provides, wanting to be helpful too while putting down the bottle of alcohol.

"Right. Your party in your, ahem, blanket… fort. Have a good night," she says and this time, there's certainly a smile in her voice as she steps out and closes the door.

Sirius looks down at Remus. Remus looks up at Sirius.

They both break into a new fit of laughter - and suddenly Sirius is losing his grip on the blankets, collapsing on top of Remus and making him yelp and push at him until he rolls over and Remus can breathe again.

\---

The next day, Remus wakes up with Sirius' arm slung over his waist. Remus' head lolls towards Sirius as he blinks confusedly at the red blankets hung above them. Sirius snores softly - the same barely-there growl Remus remembers lulling him to sleep at school. The same almost-there growl that he missed so much in the first year they were out of school. The same sound that came to hunt him in his dreams during the twelve years where that growl was nothing but a distant memory of pain and treason and _forbiddenness_. 

With a twist of his stomach and a small pounding in his head, Remus thanks Grimmauld Place's coldness for easing his headache. He’s not that grateful for the cold forcing them to sleep so closely - not because it’s not _nice_ , which it is, but because they still ought to talk, at some point, about what it means for Sirius to be trapped here, and what the future holds for them, and how maybe they need to work out their feelings for each other to _not_ fuck things up, considering they are somewhat alone with each other in this world.

It’s been almost fifteen years and he still has no grip on his emotions when it comes to the man nestling against his side, he thinks with a sigh. 

Remus feels guilty at how happy he feels at the idea of going back to sleep in Sirius’ arms. His knees and back hurt from sleeping on the floor, but that’s nothing in comparison to the heavy pounding of his heart and the desire in his veins calling for _now, now, now._ For once, he pushes the guilt and the self-sabotaging thoughts to the back of his mind and turns his back towards Sirius while grabbing his arm to keep it over his waist as he decides to _fuck it_ , just go back to sleep. 

Go back to sleep cuddling with Sirius, that is.

Maybe he’s still a bit drunk.

He feels Sirius inch closer and sleepily mumble incomprehensible things against the back of his neck, but before he can get his head in a mess trying to make sense of them, he falls back asleep, all the tiredness of a night of drinking and talking hitting him again in full force.

\---

Remus is back again. A full motherfucking month working for Dumbledore, who-knows-where, with who-knows-which-Pack, and at who-knows-what-risk, but he’s finally back. Sirius hears him from his place by the window, where he's been for hours, although time moves so slowly in this house that he’s not actually sure of how long it’s been. His heart is oddly numb, and even though he feels some ghostly feeling of happiness at the knowledge that Remus is here, he can't make himself look back at his friend, not even when he can feel him standing by his side and looking at him.

Sirius feels sort of ashamed of being trapped here, of letting his feelings take the best out of him. 

"Hey, Padfoot," Remus greets him, and it’s like that voice unclenches something in him because he can finally look back and smile, tired and old. Remus looks at him, blinking a couple of times, like he’s struck by Sirius’ smile. Sirius’ stomach twists, pleasantly or unpleasantly, he’s not sure. His mind fills with images that he thought he’d never get back in his mind - he wants to stand up and hug Remus tightly, pull him against his chest, breathe on his neck, kiss behind his ear, take his face between his hands and look into his eyes, maybe say, ‘welcome back, Moony’ before kissing him.

Instead, he stays sat down, looking up at Remus. 

"How have things been around here?" Remus asks in the end, as Sirius stays quiet. Remus is all gentleness, even when he looks absolutely exhausted.

"Same as always. Boring. Senselessly boring. I'm fucking useless here," he answers, bitterly. A shadow of pain and understanding crosses Remus’ features.

"Well, if it serves as any consolation, my mission was shite too. So what do you think - party tonight? I was thinking we could try to build a bigger fort this time. Maybe make it go from one room to another," Remus says, with something like hope in his voice.

Sirius is already grinning before Remus finishes the sentence.

They charm the entrance of the fort to yell insults at people who get close enough and leave it up for the next two weeks, sneaking into it whenever they need a break from Grimmauld Place - from the Order, from Dumbledore, from Sirius’ family heirloom, from blasts from the past, from anger, exhaustion and uncertainty. 

Even though they are on the other side of the house, they know exactly what’s going on when they start hearing the noises. Their eyes meet and they start laughing uncontrollably when they hear the fort’s squeaky voice screaming “only decent people are allowed in! And you are definitely not someone allowed in, you ugly git.” They had bickered over what voice they wanted to give to the fort for _hours_ , so Sirius has _reasons_ to look smug, even though Remus just rolls his eyes and keeps laughing, because the high-pitched, almost child-like voice _does_ give the desired contrasting effect when paired with swearing and despise.

They are grabbing each other’s arms to avoid falling to the ground with their restless laughter when they hear the portrait of Walburga start yelling too. When Snape finally enters the room, looking ashen-faced and about to be sick, they are the definition of innocently shocked and appropriately surprised adults.

Or Remus is. Sirius is still too smug to look anything but mocking.

Sirius resists pulling the fort down at Snape's angry demand. He shows his sharp teeth in the most threatening smile he’s pulled in over a decade, but it subdues as he sees guilt etched on Remus’ features. That’s the only thing that stops him from throwing the nastiest hex he can think of at Snape’s sour face. 

In the end, what brings the fort down is its yells at Molly and Arthur to _come in, come in, and enjoy the romantic atmosphere_ because _surely you still have it in you to go for one more rodeo_ , _champs._ What’s definitely the last drop in the metaphorical glass of the Order’s patience is its humming something that resembles the music that Muggles put on their _adult_ moving pictures.

Remus looks absolutely mortified about it, but the firewhiskey that Sirius provides as they take out their wands and carefully undo spells and fold blankets helps him forget the shame after five minutes. Sirius feels proud of himself when he manages to make Remus laugh, and he only knows that he wants to keep seeing the light on Remus’ face that comes back as he wheezes and grabs his sides and asks Sirius to _stop, just fucking stop_ . At that, Sirius keeps listing things he thinks the fort should have said to other members of the Order. Remus keeps hiccuping, and Sirius’ heart feels young and so, so _alive_. 

When he manages to make Remus drop his wand and choke on nothing but air at Sirius’ ideas of what the fort could say to Dumbledore, Sirius thinks to himself that in the end, the forts have been quite a brilliant idea on Remus.

\---

Sirius kisses Remus in their fourth fort, built two weeks after the third is pulled down. They settle the new one in Sirius’ room, covering the floor and the bed; the cupboard, ottoman, and every other posh piece of furniture. They build it after a night when Sirius finds Remus in the kitchen making tea. Sirius’ eyes look bleary and dark, and his face is sunken. Remus doesn’t need the words to know it’s because of nightmares. 

With his heart heavy in his chest, Remus silently pours tea in two cups and adds two sugars to each. They drink in silence, Sirius alternating between playing with his spoon and racking his fingernails over the wooden table, not looking at Remus once. Remus still has half of his tea, but it’s too sweet and lukewarm when he stands and moves silently to Sirius’ bedroom. His hands are shaking but he hides it well enough - he hasn't been in this room before, Sirius didn't let him, not even when they moved here. The room feels hunted, untouched by _this_ Sirius, a relic from time and memory.

He intends to build a fort around Sirius’ bed, but then Sirius joins in, casting charms and bringing blankets with feverish enthusiasm that ends with them expanding more and more until both of them fall to the floor, tired and breathless. They fall asleep when the morning is already starting to show its first signs through the nearly-opaque windows. 

From then on, Remus takes to sleeping in the fort whenever his bones aren’t protesting too much. He thinks about summoning his mattress from the guest room, but he's afraid that it might be too much, too soon. Too much for something they are not even talking about - how he's hopelessly in love, how he wants to be there for Sirius whenever he wants him, how he loves him with the patience of his adult years and the heat of a bruised heart. How he wants them to find new places in their souls that they haven't been able to uncover before. How he wants for them to share their demons, and maybe even try to heal their old wounds.

Bringing his mattress would force them to talk about what's going on, and talking means opportunities for fucking things up. So he doesn’t bring his mattress, but he transfigures some pillows to make them as even as possible and crashes in Sirius’ room night after night.

It’s a new development that still feels oddly natural, then, when Sirius kisses him. Remus is lying on some puffy golden cushions, booze warming him from within. He’s laughing as he mumbles about the fort being their own haven, where only tired, over thirty people are allowed - _No Snapes though, and certainly no people from the ministry._ He traces with his finger the stars he transfigured on the sheet over their heads. He closes one eye and then the other to check how different it is to look at them from his left eye and his right one. _Fuck_ , his left eye is much more bleary. Fuck aging. 

Sirius seems particularly happy with the statement about Ministry people, humming softly at that, so Remus - well, he can only smile cheekily and wink at him. Remus goes quiet then; his hair is sticking up to his forehead with sweat, tickling him, so he starts trying to blow it away with small huffs and puffs of breath.

It’s weird how little he cares about how long his hair is getting now - and it’s quite long now that he’s been in Grimmauld Place for a while. Here, it doesn’t matter how dishevelled he looks. Sirius certainly doesn’t seem to care, and the other members of the Order don’t make comments. 

Remus is suddenly startled from his thoughts about _hair_ when he feels fingers on his forehead, softly pushing the strands away. His hand moves on its own accord to trap Sirius’ fingers, and as he looks up, he realizes that _Sirius Black_ is looming over him, dark eyes soft and attentive as they examine Remus’ face. 

Remus should feel exposed, lying there on his back with Sirius looking at him without saying a word, second after second, like he’s committing this moment to memory. Remus should follow the part of his brain that yells that this is a weird moment and a _Bad_ _idea_ , with capital b. Remus should tell his heart to be happy with the intimacy and quiet company they’ve built over the months and make sure that things stay like that because the risk of hurting each other is too high. But well, what Remus feels, in the end, has nothing to do with any of that. He feels happy, at peace, and so, so fucking in love that a small smile comes to his face as his eyes trace every softened feature on Sirius’ face too. 

He probably looks like an idiot. He’s almost thirty-five and smiling at his best friend with lust and meaning, looking straight at his mouth. He shivers, certain that his feelings are clear on his face, ready for Sirius to pick and do with them whatever he wants. He knows Sirius can see in his eyes not only the love and desire but also the nervousness and doubts. What Sirius’ eyes tell him, as Sirius slowly moves on top of Remus and lowers his face closer to Remus’, is that he knows, yes, he does. He knows how they’ve been building to this moment, knowingly at some points, and being absolutely oblivious at others. Sirius’ eyes tell a story about the war, about love and pain and penance. They talk about the last night they saw each other before Sirius’ imprisonment, almost a month before the death of the Potters, when there was so much mistrust in those eyes that Remus wasn’t sure if they were going to punch each other or fuck for the first time - not as Remus wanted, as he dreamt for years, longingly; no, if they would have fucked, they would have done it hurting and hating. Those eyes talk about freezing your own feelings, about attraction that couldn’t be dimmed but could be turned into cold dismissal as Sirius left Remus behind. 

Sirius’ eyes talk about that first night they saw each other in the Shack, about grey afternoons at Remus’ cottage, about closed doors and foreheads against them, doubting whether to come in or not, deciding, in the end, to turn around with words dying in their throats; they talk about warm meals to put muscle and fat back on bones, about long, warm baths to wash years of grime out, about nights sitting at the table, sipping tea or brandy and eating potatoes or bread or who-cares-what as long as it was warm and soft. They talk about trying to talk about _anything_ , _anything_ , but the past, until words came crashing out like flocks of birds - _sorrys_ and _whys_ and _remember that time_ , hurting them both, building a new pathway of pain towards freedom and healing after thirteen years of living in numbness, Sirius stripped of his humanity, Remus like a ghost moving through his life like all that was left was nothing but a shadow of a world built on _you should have knowns._

Those grey eyes talk about every night and afternoon spent in this hell hole where somehow, with all the pain and memories, they still managed to build a refuge for the two of them with days filled with soft talking and laughing, with pain and anger pushed down to leave space for love and company and comfort. Remus thinks they talk of nights of longing and drinking and getting to know each other again; of new memories built not only because they _used to know each other_ , but because they want to get to know the people they are _now_. They speak of new and old feelings, of love built not only on the soft fire of an old friendship and the deep burn of doubt, but also in the uncertainty of something new in their adult years, where they can recognize who they were and get to know new versions of each other.

It just takes one movement from Sirius for their lips to be brushing, and somehow, even seeing all the love in those eyes, all that Remus manages to do is to laugh - he _laughs_ , for God’s sake, and he can feel Sirius smiling against his lips. He’s surprised at his voice coming out as a low, charged rasps as he says that this is a very stupid thing to do, before grabbing Sirius’ upper arms and start snogging him senseless.

If Sirius has any doubts about _this_ , he doesn’t show them. There’s no hesitation in his movements as he kisses Remus until they are both breathless. He kisses with a passion that Remus thinks vaguely he never saw him pour into anyone else. 

Hours later their mouths no longer taste like alcohol and their kisses turn into a slow, patient drag. In the back of his mind, Remus knows - _he knows_ \- they should talk about this, but instead, he just finds in himself the need to stop kissing for a second to laugh against Sirius’ mouth - laugh, _again_ , like that’s the only thing he can do with himself! And Sirius, sweet Sirius, _not-really-his Sirius_ but also _maybe-his-Sirius,_ just laughs with him, soft eyes and a solid mouth that slides down Remus’ throat before coming back up to nibble on his bottom lip. Remus isn’t sure whose hands start to wander first ( _his_ , definitely _his)_ , who pushes away clothes first to graze fingertips over hot, damp skin. All he knows is that Sirius sighs and he himself is shuddering, and still, they are going so, so slow. They are in their thirties and there's no rush, even after wanting this for decades and having a new war promising a new debacle.

Remus guesses that neither of them wants to hurt the other. He’s fairly certain they are both shaking, and he thinks it’s because of what all that _this_ means for them, because it’s _them_. So they kiss there for hours before Remus mumbles that forts are perfect for thirty-year-olds. That in fact, they should reclaim their rights over them above kids. Forts are perfect for them, perfect for snogging even though his back and knees hurt like hell. Forts are perfect to have Sirius over him, kissing his neck and the tips of his fingers, smiling softly at him and then telling him how brilliant he is.

Forts are perfect for Sirius’ laughter. And they are still perfect and offer new possibilities as Sirius stands up, letting Remus’ eyes roam up and down his body for a second before Sirius offers his hand and pulls Remus to his feet to lead him to his bed.

Beds are also perfect, Remus comes to the conclusion later. Because in beds, they can get naked and feel less raw and fragile, and Sirius can start doing everything he dreamt of doing to Remus since school, voicing it at every step; in beds, Remus can feel his pulse roar and his cheeks hurt for how much he’s smiling as he grabs Sirius’ head to pull him up and kiss him deeply again.

In beds, they can wake up in the morning, blink sleepily and smile dazedly before laughing and saying "fuck it," not really caring about morning breath as they kiss each other for hours again.

Forts are great, don’t get Remus wrong. Forts have their uses and hold a special place in his heart. Forts help Sirius with nightmares and help Remus with his self-imposed correctness. Forts are a nexus between their past selves and the present, and in them, they can get lost and tussle around and drink. 

But beds - beds are perfect. Perfect to find a lover within your best friend. Perfect to mumble love confessions in the morning. Perfect for finding a home after the storm.

And Remus thinks he can stay in bed, in _their_ bed - _their bed,_ Sirius mumbles that morning, _stay here, stay in our bed, Moony, we’ll go grab something to eat later,_ like he didn’t know how Remus’ heartbeat stuttered at the sleepy words - for eternity.

And it’s not that Remus is _completely_ soppy; he’s not a romantic at the core, he’s pragmatic and he knows about pain and living in a hell on earth. He knows about losing yourself and losing your friends. He knows how risky it is to confuse people with their past self. He knows all of that, but - still. 

Maybe he will stay there forever.

\---

**Author's Note:**

> Oof, that was quite a trip, wasn't it? I would love to hear your thoughts about anything in this fic, so just hit me with a comment (or kudos!) if you want to!   
> I enjoyed making sense of Remus' relationship with emotions here, and I think it's an interesting take, although I'm not even sure if I agree with myself. What about you? Did something catch your eye here?  
> (Also: We can always pretend that after this they live happily ever after, right?)  
> I'm on [Tumblr](https://wanderingbandurria.tumblr.com/) ready to chat and share more Wolfstar content if you want to find me somewhere!


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